


this sudden burst of sunlight

by constantblur



Series: 2018 Writing Challenges [10]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Keithtober, M/M, communal dorm showers are a nightmare, i have never used one but i feel confident that this opinion is correct, keith agrees with me, keith super agrees with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 15:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16477985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constantblur/pseuds/constantblur
Summary: Keith has just rinsed the shampoo from his hair when he hears from the other side of the curtain, “I’m Lance, by the way. Room 321. Nice and easy to remember.”Keith pauses in the middle of reaching for his body soap.Does he want me to remember it?Keith and Lance have a meet-ugly in the communal dormitory showers, which somehow manages to become a meet-cute.





	this sudden burst of sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> ummm we’ll just say this is for the keithtober day 24 prompt: alternate universe
> 
> title from vienna teng’s “stray italian greyhound” bc it came up on shuffle and i was dying over trying to title this
> 
> WARNING? maybe kind of? just to be super safe: there is very brief nonconsensual naked touching. it’s not aggressive and is only mildly sexual (like, no Parts are touched, just hips and neck) and stops the moment it is clear it’s not consensual. basically: it’s a case of mistaken identity.

Keith is not a morning person.

He is, however, a shower-in-the-morning person, mostly because not being a morning person means he is unable to walk or talk or function like a human being without first standing under a blast of cold water to shock his system into booting up.

Unfortunately, just about every other college student on his dormitory floor is also a shower-in-the-morning person. The first time Keith became aware of this fact was also the first time he seriously considered dropping out of school. It was just so _much_ : at least a dozen boys all hovering around as they waited for a shower stall to free up, some of them shaving or brushing their teeth until their turn, all of them talking and laughing loudly. Even if Keith had already showered and woken up properly before being faced with that chaos, he still would’ve been completely overwhelmed. He’d left the bathroom within fifteen minutes of entering it to go faceplant on his bed and will death to come for him.

He’d tried to get himself to adapt to a schedule of showering at night and settling for splashing cold water on his face in the morning, but he couldn’t shake off the foggy haze enough that way. He missed too many lectures spaced out with exhaustion, skipped too many meals in favor of naps, felt too much like an angry brainless zombie too much of the time—and likely looked that way too, if his classmates’ expressions were anything to go by.

And so Keith-the-not-morning-person started waking up at a quarter to five every day to beat the other morning showerers and all the morning bathroom pandemonium they brought with them.

It is. Not ideal.

Next semester, Keith is very definitely not signing up for any classes that begin before noon. This is no way to live.

It’s 4:45 AM now and Keith grits his teeth as he moves under the shower head. Truly, this is torture. A federal agent should be pounding down the door to take him in for violating the Eighth Amendment of the Constitution. _”Sir, you have been found to be inflicting cruel and unusual punishment on yourself. Please stop. It’s really depressing.”_ Keith hastily twists the dial to heat the water up; his brain has successfully screamed itself awake after that initial icy downpour and now he needs heat and steam to soothe it back to a tolerable level of alertness.

He sighs heavily, allowing himself a minute to just stand in the hot water even though he knows he should get straight to shampooing.

Next semester.

He doesn’t even know if he’ll bother coming back next semester.

Keith hasn’t really taken to college life. And not just because of the nightmare of communal showers. It’s everything: the many and increasingly heavier demands the professors have, the constant feeling that he’s not meeting expectations, the niggling fear that he’s not in the right classes or the right major, that there is no “right” for him, that it doesn’t matter how hard he tries, he just can’t hack this college thing.

He’s also—though he’s loath to admit it—lonely.

And it’s strange to feel like that because Keith’s never been a social person; solitude’s always been comfortable and preferred. He had a handful of friends in high school that he mostly just saw in class or at lunch, and sometimes even maintaining those already very low-maintenance relationships felt too draining to bother with. He thought he’d actually prefer how college was less likely to force him into friendships because the enforced proximity wouldn’t be as pronounced anymore. Keith was fully prepared to put all his energy into studying, and grateful that he wouldn’t have to deal with the distractions that usually came in the form of other people.

Now, though.

It all feels so empty. _He_ feels empty. He goes to class, does his homework, sleeps. He thought he’d enjoy the simple routine. He thought it’d feel good to be able to keep a steady focus on his goals. He thought everything would be so much better without distractions.

And now, he all-too-frequently finds his eyes glazing over in the middle of his reading assignments, desperate for a distraction.

Pathetic. Three months in and he’s already at burnout.

Well, Keith thinks as he reaches for his shampoo bottle, at least winter break is coming up soon. He can figure things out over the holidays; for now, he’s just gotta survive until then.

Hands grip Keith’s hips at the same moment a kiss presses into his neck.

The next several seconds are a blur of chaos in which it seems like many things happen very, very quickly.

Keith can’t really track it all: he makes some noise, a snarl or a shriek or maybe he’s screaming _WHAT THE FUCK_ , he’s not really sure because he’s also tripping over the shampoo bottle he dropped and is trying to not actually fall down and give himself a concussion, and the other person is making some noise too, and there are _hands_ again on Keith that he snarls at some more until they flutter away, and the shower curtain lands half on top of Keith, and this is very definitely not the kind of distraction he had wanted.

“ _Fuck_ , I am so, _so_ sorry,” the other boy is babbling when Keith’s fight-or-flight ratchets down enough notches for him to process human speech again, “I thought you were someone else!”

“Well, fuck, maybe don’t base your guess on a glance at someone’s ass!” Keith shouts, still panicked. “Better yet, just don’t fucking sneak up on anyone in the shower! You could’ve fucking—oh my god, I almost broke my neck, I do _not_ want paramedics coming in here to drag my naked body away and telling my brother I died from a failed shower quickie!”

The other boy stares at Keith for several beats—and then he lets out a snort, which is quickly followed by peals of wild, full-bodied laughter. “I’m sorry!” he cackles. “I’m not really laughing at you, it’s just—“

“This is _not_ funny,” Keith snaps, clutching the shower curtain closer to keep himself covered. The other boy is very naked.

“It is though,” the other boy wheezes. “I mean you— _failed shower quickie_ , come on!”

Keith maybe, vaguely, just a little bit, cracks a smile at that.

“Oh, man,” the other boy says, still snickering a bit as he leans back against the shower wall. His eyes are closed. He is so very naked. “I really am sorry,” he says, eyes opening again to look at Keith. “We really didn’t think anyone else would be in here this early—oh, man,” his eyes goes wide, “you’re the only other one in here though. Damn. Looks like I got stood up, huh?”

“Good,” Keith mutters.

The other boy laughs again. “Yeah, I deserve that, I guess.” He holds out his hand. “Here, let me help you get that curtain back up.”

Keith hugs it tighter to himself. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, okay,” the other boy says, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sorry. I’ll go so you can—“ He gestures vaguely, which Keith interprets as something along the lines of, _So you can fix the shower curtain and get back to the shower I very rudely interrupted, sorry I’ve been standing naked in front of you for so long and making you uncomfortable because you are also naked and we are two complete strangers just standing here naked in the shower_.

The boy slips out of the shower stall, and Keith promptly unfolds the curtain from his body so he can put the suddenly very not-solid-enough barrier between himself and the rest of the world.

Keith has just rinsed the shampoo from his hair when he hears from the other side of the curtain, “I’m Lance, by the way. Room 321. Nice and easy to remember.”

Keith pauses in the middle of reaching for his body soap. _Does he want me to remember it?_

No. Nope. Stupid thought. Not lingering on that. Keith clears his throat and says, “Keith. 307.”

“Well, this was admittedly not an ideal first meeting,” Lance says, “but it’s still nice to meet you, Keith.”

“I’m not sure the feeling’s mutual,” Keith deadpans.

Lance laughs. “Fair enough,” he says. “Sorry, is this—am I making you uncomfortable? I can leave if you want.”

Part of Keith wants to tell Lance to get the hell out, perhaps with an added, _Learn to keep your hands to yourself or I will remove them from your body_. But he finds he can’t really muster up the anger to actually say it. He’d been furious (and _terrified_ ) in the moment, and it was just about the rudest introduction he’s ever had to another person, but Lance seems genuinely contrite now and is kind enough to be sensitive to how Keith must be feeling after basically being assaulted in the shower. It had been a mistake—a very stupid one that could’ve easily been avoided if Lance had just said a quick, “Hey, are you the guy I made an early morning shower quickie date with?” instead of hopping right into an occupied shower stall, but a mistake all the same. It’s actually kind of nice that instead of fleeing the scene of the crime right away, Lance stuck around. Like he wants to clear the air. Like he wants to make sure Keith is okay.

“It’s fine,” Keith says. “Just—stay on that side of the curtain.”

“You got it,” Lance says. “You know, you look pretty familiar. Are you in Professor Holt’s Introduction to Astrophysics class?”

Keith lathers up his body, trying to hurry because this shower has already gone well-over the acceptable time limit. “That’s the reason why I’m up so early,” he grumbles. “I don’t wake up without a shower, and if I don’t wake up, I don’t pass his pop quizzes.”

“You’ve still got like three and a half hours until class, man,” Lance says incredulously. “Oh god, are you one of those people who goes and runs thirty miles every morning, or you go to the gym and benchpress refrigerators for an hour, or, oh, do you do yoga, are you a—what are they called—yogi—“

“No, Lance,” Keith finally, tiredly interrupts. “Why would I shower before working out anyway?” He steps back under the shower head, rinsing off the soap suds.

“Fine, is there any actual logical reason why you’re in here so early then?” Lance says.

Keith turns the shower off, taking a moment to squeeze excess water out of his hair before snaking an arm out to grab the bathrobe hanging outside the stall. Keith makes sure it’s fully closed and secured before he gathers up his other shower things and pulls the curtain aside. He’s relieved to see Lance is in a bathrobe now too. “Because in about half an hour, it’s going to be a madhouse in here,” he says, shuffling towards the sink with his shower caddy. “I prefer being in here when no one else is.”

Lance’s face falls. “I am so, so sorry, Keith,” he says. “That was so stupid of me. I am so, so stupid.”

“You are,” Keith says, meeting Lance’s eyes in the mirror. Lance looks crestfallen. “But,” Keith continues, digging out his toothbrush and toothpaste, “it’s okay.” He wets the toothbrush and squeezes a line of mint green onto it. “Thanks for not actually killing me so my brother doesn’t have to believe I died trying to have sex in a dorm shower.”

Lance’s face brightens with a grin. Keith has to look away, concentrating instead on the toothbrush in his mouth. “Would’ve been an interesting obituary though. Probably would’ve gotten cut out from the newspaper and saved in some nutter’s scrapbook.” Lance laughs at the indignant look on Keith’s face. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, really. Hey, what are you doing after this? You’ve got a lot of time to kill before class.”

Keith shrugs and spits foam into the sink. “Study, probably,” he says before sticking the toothbrush back in his mouth.

“Lame, but understandable,” Lance says, leaning back against the counter. “Holt’s so unpredictable and has a bit of that crazy scientist vibe going on. Guess you’ve gotta be pretty hardcore if you really want to keep up with him and ace his class. I’m just aiming to, like, not die. You know, I’ve noticed you in class before.” Keith pauses just long enough to blink at Lance in confusion over that non sequitur. “And like, I’m not saying it’s your fault that I’m on the brink of bombing that class—astrophysics is hard, man, and Holt can be hard to follow when he, you know, gets all excitable and starts chattering like a fast-forwarded chipmunk. But you show up to class a lot with that little ponytail? And it’s, like, super distracting.”

Keith’s brain temporarily shorts out. While it reboots, Keith robotically goes through the motions of finishing up at the sink. Spits out more foam, turns on the faucet, rinses off his toothbrush, wipes his mouth clean. After he’s put his things away and dried his face, Keith says, “Really? You’re hitting on me after”—he gestures towards the shower stall—“that?”

Lance groans, covering his face with his hand. “Yeah, that was bad,” he says. “Sorry. Fuck.”

The thing is, though, that Keith doesn’t feel nearly as offended as he’s trying to sound. “It’s—“ he says, then flounders, too annoyed at himself for saying that in the first place and continuing to make this awkward morning more and more awkward. It’s not like, given the traitorous warmth in his chest, he actually minded having Lance flirt with him. “Fine,” he lamely finishes.

“Nope. No, it’s not,” Lance says, shaking his head. “I’m making you uncomfortable, and it’s—“

“It’s fine,” Keith says, firmly this time. And then he flounders again. He has absolutely zero experience with situations like this. He doesn’t know how to react when someone’s flirting with him, and he certainly doesn’t know how to flirt _back_. “Uh, I could stop with the ponytail, if it’s really too distracting. Wouldn’t want to be responsible for you actually bombing the class.”

Lance smiles at Keith tentatively. “Nah, it’s cool. You should keep wearing your hair up,” he says, “if you want to.”

Keith shifts his eyes so he’s not looking at Lance through the mirror anymore. “Okay,” he says, and offers a tentative smile back.

Lance’s smile grows, and then he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, uh, are you really going to study all morning?”

“I guess,” Keith says with a shrug. “It’s what I do most mornings.”

“Let me buy you breakfast?” Lance says, sounding hesitant but desperate. “I’m really sorry, but I know saying that’s not enough, and I know coffee and pancakes isn’t enough either, I just—“

“Okay,” Keith says. He picks up his shower caddy. “Let me just go get dressed.”

“Yeah?” Lance says, smile brightening his face again.

“Yeah,” Keith says. He moves a couple steps towards the door before the thought niggling at him is too much to ignore, and he slows to a halt again. “Wait,” he says, and then it spills out: “That guy—the one you were going to—I mean, you were supposed to—spend the morning with him, right, maybe you should go see him instead—“

“Oh, whoa, no, Keith,” Lance says hurriedly, and then he’s stumbling to stand in front of Keith, waving his arms in a frantic _nopewrongfalse_ sort of way. “It wasn’t like that at all. I mean, he stood me up and it’s just—I don’t even care? It was this dumb casual thing that,” he laughs a little nervously, rubbing the back of his neck again, “I shouldn’t have agreed to anyway. It’s not—it wasn’t serious, at all.”

“Oh,” Keith says quietly, and immediately wants to swing the shower caddy full-force at his head because he can’t bite back the small smile that creeps out. “Okay then.”

“Okay,” Lance echoes, smile matching Keith’s. “So, I’ll meet you at your room? 307, right?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, moving towards the door again. “Come prepared. Coffee and pancakes are not an adequate apology breakfast. You better have enough money to cover a real apology.”

“Keith, my buddy, my man, I have absolutely got you covered,” Lance says eagerly. “You can get whipped cream and strawberries on your pancakes. Coffee _and_ tea. Sausages, bacon, or _both_. The sky’s the limit.”

“Good,” Keith says, striding out into the hall with Lance close behind, “because I think maybe one breakfast won’t be enough. Might have to do another breakfast sometime. Maybe lunch.”

He glances over his shoulder to see Lance standing in the middle of the hallway, frozen with a giant grin on his face and pink ears. He animates again when his eyes meet Keith’s. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, might have to do several apology breakfasts. Maybe dinner too. Eventually.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. Then because Lance is still just standing there: “I’m not going to breakfast with you if you’re still in your bathrobe, Lance.”

“Right!” Lance starts walking backwards down the hallway, his eyes not leaving Keith’s because Keith, too, is walking backwards down the hallway. “I’ll be ready in, like, two minutes.”

“See you in three, then,” Keith says, finally turning to walk properly before he trips and falls.

From the loud squawk and sudden thump, Keith assumes that Lance is not equally successful.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/constantblur_)


End file.
